


Until We Get To The Romance

by No_Sheet_Superlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: All series, Angst, Asexual Sherlock, Episode: s01e01 A Study in Pink, Eventual Fluff, Long-Suffering John, M/M, Pining John, Sherlock (TV) Spoilers, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Slow Burn Romance, TJLC | The Johnlock Conspiracy, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-20 12:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2429168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/No_Sheet_Superlock/pseuds/No_Sheet_Superlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The 3 current Sherlock series rewritten to be very close to the canon but just different enough for us to see closer into the relationship of John and Sherlock. All the angst of in-depth pining. Maybe when we get there we can see my prediction for season 4. Based heavily from the Johnlock conspiracy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How it begins

John Watson pushed his sister out of his way forcefully.  
“Harry this is just ridiculous!” He grabbed his coat of the hook and to further add to his frustration he felt it tug and rip just a little. Inwardly cursing himself and outwardly cursing his sister he grabbed the front door knob fiercely.   
“You asked me to help you through your divorce!” He felt as though he were spitting exclamation marks everywhere. He’d forgotten civilian drama could make him as emotional as this. Afghanistan’s wreckage had made him forget. Remembering what an arse his sister could be, was a slap in the face. Harry had walked out on pretty Clara and walked back into his fragmented life. John further cursed as he fumbled with the door knob. He failed to open the door. Finally he just rested his head against the door, the cool wood was supposed to be calming. It wasn't particularly helping though.   
Harry’s silence told him more than her words ever could. A still mouth was a rarity on his sister’s face. 

Panting through parted thin lips he turned to her, the back of his head rested uncomfortably on the door. She really could control her drunken frame when she wanted to. Her spine way straight but he doubted any step she took would be. No visible indication of the copious amount of liquor she’d consumed played on her face. John knew better, she smelt like Jack Daniels.   
“I’m going to move out, get a little place of my own. You can deal with yourself on your own.” He’d have liked to have continued further in his frankly callous tone of voice, however it was unlikely she would remember much of this conversation in a few hours. She just blinked at him before looking down ashamedly. John’s hand flexed awkwardly on the walking stick. He felt a clammy, trapped sensation.  
John was almost tempted to salute ironically at his sister before he made his grand exit. He felt this would be lost on her though. Consequently the departure was silent in words but the purposeful actions spoke in huge volumes. 

Out on the street John’s mind buzzed madly. He’d have to get a cab to a hotel for the night. Would he have enough money? His army pension was hardly much. Bloody Harry. It was dark and bitter outside. John’s limp increased as he walked stiffly down the road to the high street, stick stabbing into the ground creating a steady beat. He tried to get his heart rate down to the steady clunking as he inhaled the night air. The air at night has a distinctive quality.   
By the time John had reached the busy main road he had switched off his senses. Closing off was easy. Being oblivious and naive to surroundings was simpler. He hailed a cab and gratefully clambered in. Distractedly he removed his coat to scrunch into his lap and told the cabbie where to go. He was lucky, his driver didn't seem interested in conversation like some did in London.   
Finally he allowed himself to relax, remaining in his own head. The head rest was comfortable and John realised he was devastatingly worn out. It had only been a few moths since he’d returned and been forced to move back in with his now single sister. The therapy sessions weren’t fun, the lack of elated heart rates weren’t fun and his sister’s drinking habits weren't fun. Life was on a decreasing slope and John Watson couldn't bring up the energy to step off the ride. 

The traffic hadn’t been bad up until the crossing traffic lights where the string of cars was irritatingly long; but only on the lane John needed to go. That was life John thought bitterly as he lowered his chin to his chest. Thump thump thump. What now? Thump thump thump. There was a man pounding his fist against the cabbie’s window. Is he drunk? Clearly this cab is full.   
The driver rolled down the window, clearly as pissed off as John felt, he probably has to deal with drunks like this all the time. John could sympathise with that.   
“Sherlock?” The cabbie seemed to recognise this strange man. John craned his neck to listen but he couldn't make out what they were conversing. Suddenly a swish of coat swooped past his window and John sighed relived nothing ridiculous was happening. Then the door swung open and two long legs swung in the cab, the coat covered the man’s body and neck. The collar drawn up to conceal his face but not the mop of unruly hair. It wasn't much to drink in but John did; just incase he had to fling some spiteful words his way. He wasn't in the mood for cab sharing.   
When the cabbie turned off into the empty lane quickly, the wrong way from where John wished to go, no words were said. Confused beyond imagination he protested. He could see the cabbie’s eyes in the mirror full of something that may have been an apology. Shoulders could just be made out of be shrugging. John instead pushed this Sherlock fellow’s shoulder, hard.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” John was spluttering, outraged.  
“Just taking a little detour sorry.” His voice was distinctive but he didn't recognise it like the cabbie had, not a celebrity then. John continued to swear at his terrible luck. Sherlock still didn’t look at him, it was as though John was the least interesting thing in the cab.   
The car was going unreasonably fast.  
“Why this cab?” John was almost laughing at the peculiar events. “Go get another one!”  
“Exhausting.” Sherlock said.  
“What?” John was exasperatedly huffing, outraged.  
“Afghanistan or Iraq?” The monotone bored voice made John bristle more than the actual words.   
“I don’t know how you know me but I don’t know you so please let me be!” Once again John’s voice was being raised.   
“You are utterly exhausting.” Sherlock elongated and over pronounced the word utterly. “Look I will pay for your ride and hotel.”   
John didn’t want to fall for this man’s tricks but the offer was tempting. He was broke and needed to save for getting rent. He hesitated, opening and closing his mouth. The silence was the only yes this man needed.   
Sherlock finally turned to him and squinted his eyes, clearly smug he’d rendered John speechless. From what of it he could see Sherlock had a peculiar face, it was striking. Pallid, sickly skin and furrowed eyebrows over oddly coloured eyes. They seemed to be ever changing as the lights that flashed over his face from London’s busy night life. His cheekbones were defined and his cheeks hollow. Too thin. The upper lips just two peaks above the blue scarf. 

John realised he was staring so he quickly squeezed his phone from his jean’s pocket. Pressing the button to check for any messages from Harry revealed none so he just held the phone to his mouth to avoid any further embarrassments. However he was acutely aware the curious man was still watching him, unbothered by how uncomfortable it was making John feel. Finally the car slowed down but did not yet stop.   
“Your stop?” John queried. Sherlock nodded.  
“Don’t let your sibling get to you Mr.” He paused waiting for John to fill in his name.  
“Doctor John Watson” John supplied.  
“I know what it’s like to have a pain in the arse for a brother.”  
John gaped. This was either a madman or a brilliant one, maybe both.   
“Thanks for letting me take your cab, and not talking too much.” He quietly added. “Maybe you’d consider flat sharing if you're so short on cash.” He gathered his stuff together to brace himself for the harsh conditions outside. How had John not noticed the hammering rain? 

“Wait-” Sherlock was backing out of the cab, tipping his head in thanks to the driver and throwing £20 at him. He paused and John continued. “We’ve only just met and now you’re inviting me to share a flat? We know nothing about each other.”  
Sherlock obviously rolled his eyes and formed the words: “We’ve only just met and I know you served in Afghanistan as an army doctor and you’ve just walked out on your brother because of their drinking habits or because they just left their wife. Probably both. That’s enough to be getting along with don’t you think?”  
Sherlock smiled a slightly intimidating,sharklike smile. “The name’s Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221b Bakerstreet.” He winked and was gone. Evidently at a fast pace. Was that flirtation? Or was that always how he was.

John didn’t know what had just happened. The cabbie laughed at his expression and said something about him always being like that. John wasn't paying much attention. Was he disappointed it wasn't flirtation? He didn’t sleep much of the rest of the couple hours that remained of the night.


	2. Absolutely Not His Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The formidable Angelo's scene in which we find out the inner workings of John and Sherlock at the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so to clarify about this fic. I'm taking key parts of episodes so we can really get into their heads. Sorry if it's too canonically based. Things will change. Stick around :) xx p.s. i haven't get a person to look through my work for me so all mistakes are my own.

John Watson wasn’t accustomed to going out for a meal. Since he’d been sent back from service he’d lived mainly off microwavable meals from the local shop, occasionally his sister made the stretch to get an M&S meal deal. Any food and a glass of wine were a blessing, he could appreciate that now. So he didn’t complain as he would reheat last night’s cottage pie for lunch.   
However in the last 12 odd hours John’s life had suddenly become a lot more interesting than warmed up food. 221b Bakerstreet was a lovely place; cosy, warm. Quite unlike the man he’d have to share a flat with. No no. He didn’t have to make that choice yet. After visiting a crime scene as suggested by Sherlock Holmes, who as it turned out was a consulting detective quite abnormally obsessed with murder, he had been stolen away by Sherlock’s enemy.   
The mysterious man was threatening but John didn’t fall for that. Donovan, the spiteful probably jealous crime scene worker, had tried to scare him off and he hadn’t wavered. So why would the umbrella twirling man bother him. He’d refused to except any payment to spy on Sherlock Holmes. That was cruel. He had a gift frankly.

So now here he was in Angelo’s, after texting a murderer, he didn’t want to admit this was elating. But it was. Sherlock sat down opposite him, mind clearly racing. He was probably deducing everyone of his movements. It made him defensive, a streak in his personality he was normally proud of. However here in the restaurant with Sherlock, who was practically a stranger, he didn’t want to give a bad impression. What on earth was going on in his head? Then the owner came over.  
“Sherlock! Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free. On the house, for you and for  your date.” He spoke in a heavy Italian accent and of course Already knew Sherlock as the cabbie had.   
Oh date.. was this a date? It shouldn’t be. Or rather couldn’t.

 

John wasn’t entirely certain of his preference to gender. He’d never really considered dating men. Women were pretty, sexy and intelligent. Harry had always teased him about him being gay, although he knew he wasn’t. He later just decided she did this as a nervous way of coping with her own sexuality and seeing how he would maybe react to it. Of course he hadn’t minded, unlike their parents.  
John had had his first kiss from, oh what was her name, Mary yes that was it. Mary Smith. He’d only been 7 and she’d run up to him and pecked him on the lips, supposedly as a dare. After that he never considered ever having a future with a man. ‘Stick with what you’re used to’ he would think if he found himself checking out any pretty boys in 6th form.   
However by the time John had rebelled against his conservative parents and gone into the army he found nothing mattered anymore. He didn’t have a ‘girl at home’ to keep living for. Unless you included his sister, but John didn’t want to think about that. Her alcoholism was a permanent worry.   
Anyway John was an army doctor, he saw the injured men and listened to their last words. His most powerful memories were in fact the ones that weren’t his. The ones men would whisper as they recalled them for a final thought. Hot ending breaths.   
Sure there had been some woman in service but they never interested him. The environment was thick with testosterone. John had once had an intimate moment with a younger officer but he wouldn’t think back to that. It burned.

What’s that? Sherlock was asking John if he wished to eat. John’s throat was dry and he felt suffocated by all this self questioning. He was too old for that. All he managed was.   
“I’m not his date.”  
John was dimly aware of the following conversing of Angelo and Sherlock. The word murder charge cropped up. Of course it did.   
“I'll get a candle for the table. It's more romantic.” That was Angelo again. It wasn’t a personal provoke but John felt raw. He snapped back.  
“I’m not his date!” Sherlock didn’t seem to be bothered. Hmm. John wanted to be able to read Sherlock like Sherlock could read him. It seemed only fair, not that anything ever was. John chose to bring up his encounter with Sherlock’s ‘enemy’.   
“People don't have arch-enemies.”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“In real life. There are no arch-enemies in real life. Doesn't happen.”  
“Doesn't it? Sounds a bit dull.” Sherlock was paying attention to the street and cabbie more than him. It frustrated John.   
“So who did I meet?”  
“What do real people have, then, in their..."real lives”?” Sociopath John thought bitterly.   
“Friends? People they know, people they like, people they don't like...Girlfriends,  boyfriends.” Wow he really was dropping the hint. Would Sherlock get what he was hinting at? Did he want him to? Why was he thinking like this?  
“Yes, well, as I was saying - dull.” John was confused as to how such an intelligent man could be so blind to social norms. Well it takes all sorts.  
“You don't have a girlfriend, then.”  
“Girlfriend? No, not really my area.” Oh. Well it makes sense. John continued.  
“Mm. Oh, right. Do you have a...boyfriend? Which is fine, by the way.” Because it was. He wasn’t complaining, although he didn’t quite want to admit to what this meant.   
“I know it's fine.” Sherlock wasn’t used to being unable to tell where the conversation was going but here he was. John provoked.  
“So you've got a boyfriend then.” John couldn’t believe he did but he better ask, just to clarify. Of course.   
“No.” It was direct and as honest as John believed Sherlock had been up until this point.   
“Right. OK. You're unattached. Like me. Fine. Good.” John licked his lips, unaware of how he sounded. Okay, maybe a little aware. Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows looking into John’s open face. Quickly he realised. Sherlock had always been flirted with, perhaps because of his interesting features or maybe because people just thought it was a challenge to get Sherlock to respond. He never did. He would always identify advances, such as Molly Hooper’s continual desire, and this must be one.   
Relationships were corrupt and love a vicious motivator. He needed to make John see this if he were to further continue their association. Which he admitted was so far throughly enjoyable.   
“John, erm...I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while  I'm flattered, I'm really not looking for any…” He would deal with this nicer than he would Molly’s offer of coffee recently.   
John swallowed and looked panicked.  
“No, I'm...not asking. No. I'm just saying, it's all fine.” John really didn’t mean for him to come across that way. Subconscious clearly.  
“Good. Thank you. Look across the street. Taxi. It's stopped. Nobody getting in, and  nobody getting out. Why a taxi? Oh, that's clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever?”  
Sherlock changed the subject so not to upset John further, that had not been his aim. In fact Sherlock was shocked he understood John’s embarrassment, he normally missed or ignored emotion directed at him. Emotion from others, yes, now that was interesting. 

Once the taxi appeared the adrenaline came flowing in. It was like being possessed, injected. Fight or flight, basic human instinct everyone had within them, yet it made him feel special. More alive than any nicotine could. This was why heroin had been appealing to Sherlock. Mycroft may have understood this but he certainly hadn’t tolerated it. 

John understood the kick to. But this was different from when he’d been in Afghanistan. There everyone may have always been on edge waiting but it was always a shock. Always made you jump and quiver and collect yourself. Here though it was different, he and Sherlock were running towards it as an instinct rather than wanting to flee away. John was a brave man but a bomb and copious amounts a blood could change anyone. He briefly thought back to that memory of hot breath in his ear. A bleeding lip that could only weakly form a few words. Stop it. He watched Sherlock’s billowing coat and screamed in his head he was crazy. But he charged on anyway. 

 

“OK...That was ridiculous. That was the most ridiculous thing...I've ever done.” John’s feet had only just been pounding along tarmac in pursuit of a cab that had ended up containing an American fellow. Yet despite the failure he felt good. Sherlock was smiling wickedly pleased with something.   
“And you invaded Afghanistan.” John would have taken offence with anyone else but he giggled madly. Sherlock’s throaty laugh beside him in the stairwell. It wasn’t hollow and emotionless as he’d expected. John was letting others influence him too much in the case of Sherlock Holmes. This man was fantastic. He made a mental note to show him this as much as possible.   
“That wasn't just me. Why aren't we back at the restaurant?” John queried.   
“They can keep an eye out. It was a long shot anyway.”  
“So what were we doing there?”  
“Oh, just passing the time. And proving a point.” He said the last sentence deeply knowing.  
Confused John asked what.  
“You. Mrs. Hudson! Dr Watson WILL take the room upstairs.” You? And of course he would, he’d be insane not to. 

It later transpired John’s limp had vanished and replacing it was a brilliant, brilliant man.


	3. We Giggled At A Crime Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My own personal scene set between the first two episodes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will add I have somehow managed to convince my wonderful best friend Soma to beta for me so hopefully the next chapters will be ten times better.(she was busy this time sorry) thanks for sticking around. Leave a comment if u want :)

John hadn’t even thought about Harry in hours so a phone call from her was a shock. John supposed he had rather left her in the dark about his whereabouts; but he was still pissed.   
“Hello?” He hadn’t bothered to check the caller ID.  
“John it’s me.” Harry sounded stern, she was sober then.   
“Oh.. Hi Harry, how are you?” Caution was needed here.   
“Well, you know just lonely.” Guilt trip then good good.   
“I’ve found a place and a roommate.” John changed the subject, plummeting in conversation instantly.  
“Wow you’ve been planning to leave a while then little brother.” Jumping to conclusions and patronising. Maybe sober wasn’t such a good look on her. Although she was rather right. He had found a roommate incredibly quickly, he hadn’t slowed down since this morning to think it through.   
Wait- it wasn’t even this morning.. it was a couple of days ago since the case of the serial suicides had been solved. Hours blurred into one another with Sherlock and his world. John tapped his legs as they jiggled nervously. This had been a rash decision but a good one. Or he hoped was was.

“No no not at all, we met in a taxi actually.” Harry took a while before she answered.   
“What have you been up to with this amazing roommate?” Amazing certainly was the word. Sherlock Holmes could deduce your entire life story from a brief glance. Or work out your favourite pastime from the way you walked.   
John didn’t want to tell anyone the new life he had with Sherlock. Mainly because he finally had something in his life that was his but also because he had just shot a man. An evil man. John had steadfast morals. So no he wouldn’t tell Harry about the chase and tension and the feeling of a pulled trigger. He would certainly never reveal how good it felt to have Sherlock at his side.

Here John was in 221b on his chair facing Sherlock who was currently on his phone texting avidly. John felt sorry for the phone screen by the way sherlock was jabbing it. Sherlock was in fact multitasking and also listening in on John curiously.   
“You know we haven’t done anything really, just been to the local pub a few times and had a laugh.” Sherlock didn’t understand why John was lying. Yes John didn’t seem to like his sister but to lie about Sherlock himself? Sherlock frequently lied to Mycroft but that was because Mycroft was a nosey bastard. Sherlock couldn’t hear Harry’s reply but it was just-

“Are they nice?” John’s heart slumped a little at her tone. She did miss him. She wasn’t an evil person John knew.  
“They..they are amazing. Honestly I’m very happy and it’s only been a few days.” John hoped this might cheer his sister up. Maybe she would get some of her own company, it would do her good.   
“Well you’re a very lucky man then, I hope I can attract woman like you can.”   
Oh.  
Sherlock looked up quizzically up John’s spluttering and raised an eyebrow.   
“No Harry, it’s-he’s a bloke!”  
“Well lucky you again then.”  
“It’s not like that Harry.” John tried to keep his voice even and deep but failed as it frantically broke.   
“Well you sure do seem to like him.” John could almost see her knowing wink and quirk of mouth, just as she had done when they’d been adolescents. John reluctantly sighed.  
“Sure sure whatever.” He rang off and tucked his phone away. Finally he looked up to a see a greatly amused Sherlock Holmes.  
He had drawn his knees up against himself like a child and his shoulders clearly shook with silent laughter. The child like illusion was only broken by Sherlock’s suit. Expensive looking. Probably bought by Mycroft to ensure his little brother wasn’t too much of an embarrassment.

John felt a glowing in his cheeks and muttered.  
“She’s always saying stupid things.”  
“As does Mycroft.”  
Sherlock was always so quick to reply or retort. So far John had never been the last one to finish a text conversation. Or start one for one thing. He was an.. an interesting individual but John rather liked him. Mrs Hudson was terribly good to him too. She was in fact like a mother to Sherlock. John wondered what Sherlock’s parents were like to have produced such socially retarded children. Maybe they weren’t even brothers by blood. They sure didn’t look like it. But with intelligence like theirs they must be.

Saying that though John’s cousins were quite clever and he quite ordinary. He never failed tests if he didn’t revise but if he did revise his scores weren’t much greater than 65%. After getting decent GCSE’s John went on to take A levels in medical sciences and also got grades that just got him into university.   
That all felt like a long while ago now. 

Sherlock’s education hadn’t been quite so simple. Mycroft himself had been outstanding instantly from primary onwards. He would have been terribly disappointed in a dumb brother. However although a little jealous of baby Sherlock he was fond of him once he could talk. Quickly Mycroft had been happy to find out Sherlock was almost equally intelligent as him. Never more though, not that he would admit of anyway. From there the older Holmes was even happier to discover Sherlock had an equal disinterest for ordinary folk and at their request their parents taught them from home. 

From university Sherlock supposed Mycroft was picked up to go into government. He’d hated having Mycroft go and betray him with the ordinary people in Cambridge. Sherlock was never as close to his brother once that trust had been broken. A grudge stood steadfast. Not at all helped by Sherlock being monitored by his brother.   
The only time he’d ever tried to be nice to Mycroft again was a factious plea for him not to stop Sherlock’s heroin habit. He’d begged his brother not to get in his way. Mycroft wouldn’t even banish him as he had their other brother.

Finally John spoke.  
“I’m only speaking highly of you so she wont worry.”  
“Of course I don’t doubt that.” Sherlock did of course still have a little concern John was romantically interested in him but he hoped he wouldn’t have to talk about it again. Maybe it was egotistical to assume but that was Sherlock after all.   
“Any cases?”  
“Of course.”  
John did that thing with his mouth where he would purse then pucker his lips in acknowledgement. Sherlock was learning.   
“Are you not going to go and investigate them?” By you John meant ‘us’.  
“No. Too easy. Boring.” That irritating monotone voice was back. John supposed it wasn’t all going to be domestic bliss between them. They were going to be living different lives. Crime solving together if convent to John.   
“Well then.” John trailed off. No response from Sherlock now he wasn’t supplying background entertainment. John stood up and walked around behind his chair so his back was to the kitchen. Although it was always relatively warm in the flat, probably due to Mrs Hudson fancying the boiler man as Sherlock said, John pulled the sleeves of his sweater down further. A little on edge from the sudden plummet into boredom, he looked around. 

221b Bakerstreet was even more cozy now they had both pilled their stuff into it. Admittedly it was mainly Sherlock’s various obscure items. John didn’t own to many possessions. He liked it that way. The little money he had he would save for a rainy day, he wasn't sure what he was saving for but it seemed like a good idea mainly due to the economical crisis. He wouldn't call himself paranoid at all, John just didn't to get caught up stream without a paddle as it were.   
Nonchalantly he looked at the mantel piece to examine the skull that rested there. It would make a particularly good hiding place for Sherlock’s damned cigarettes. 

John decided now would be a good time to go shopping. He gathered his coat up and went to the doorway before he turned to Sherlock, who was still awkwardly curled up in his chair, he opened his mouth. Sherlock had a small pout on and he was clearly deep into whatever was on his small screen.  
“See you in a bit.”  
No response, did he really expect one? 

(“We can’t giggle it’s a crime scene.”) Would that kind of moment be a rarity? John hoped not. He hoped he wasn’t playing up the moments between them. He hoped whatever this was it wouldn’t be constantly on his mind.   
It certainly would.   
John walked outside, a little stiffer than yesterday, and Sherlock finally looked up to an empty room.   
“John?”


	4. Sometimes You Have To Look Hard At Something To See Its Value

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The blind banker episode whizzed through with a touch of Sherlock's past drug habits to shake it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I'm ever so sorry I haven't had this beta'ed. I swear I will try and post again soon and have it checked through. Ever so sorry if this doesn't make sense or is too crammed. Enjoy a little angst :)

John stormed up the stairs into 221B after his row with a chip in pin machine. He yelled and Sherlock and crashed about a bit. Sherlock didn't understand why John was insisting to make his, clearly pissed off, mood so blatant. Sherlock Holmes was an ingenious detective, he didn’t need the screaming body language and raucousness to see John’s emotions.  
So he sat in his chair and waited for him to take some deep breaths. Moods swings were something he’d just have to deal with.  
In all truth Sherlock didn’t need a roommate at all. Although he didn't want his brother intervening in his life he was happy to take his money to waste.  
The callous, or supposedly so, detective did in fact get lonely. Someone to get under his feet in the best possible way was an amusement. 

After the last incidental overdose he’d quite given up on roommates. He had quietly got quite attached to Simon Jenkins the administrator/ drug dealer. He’d been awfully dull and hadn't really acknowledged Sherlock but to curse him for his uncleanliness. Ironic seeing as he served London’s filth by night. Sherlock had bonded silently with his human experiment. He monitored Simon and his various relationships, romantic and not romantic. Learning all the time. Just useful titbits for his acting in cases, as well as a discount on heroin. Once Simon had realised Sherlock was involved in police work he rather freaked out. However not in the way John was doing now, no not at all. 

Simon had slowly but surely surreptitiously slipped Sherlock new experimental drugs. Thinking he was being discreet in killing off his flatmate. Of course the genius that was Sherlock Holmes new what was going on. He rather liked the extra attention and gleefully injected himself. Over and over. Results worsening. 

The trips were good. Night skies he lay under; much like the needle buried in his skin. The little white scars on his arm looked just like the stars mapped out above him. The closest thing Sherlock would identify to beauty. He’d get high in graveyards, they were home more than his old flat. Compliments and cheers would rising from graves before him in his drug addled state. Hands coming up from the bases of gravestones to clap him on. He’d turn to look at the graves to see the names ‘Mycroft’ and ‘Simon’. The living stood further away, out of bounds to his presence. He was his majesty to the skeletons. He was a God, a supreme. Something to be worshipped. 

Simon increased the dosage one last time before leaving Sherlock.

Then the trips were bad. Faces of his old uni colleagues melting like wax then reforming into Anderson and Donevan, all twisted mouths and leaking eyes.  
FREAK F R E A K F R E A K…  
People, so many hostile bodies writhing near him. His skin burning if they touched. The hostile eyes and gaping gawking mouths, ever widening. Sherlock would be falling, limbs flailing wildly, hair being gripped just as he reached the bottom of the pits. Fingernails and teeth. Scratching, scraping and nibbling on his exposed neck. A flinch or a mere shiver and they’d bite into him more. Stinging, prickling. He’d look at the gravestones around him for help. Wailing corpses pleading for empathy he’d never give. Why should he? Why should he care who they were before they served him? He was a God, a supreme. Something to be feared. 

Then Sherlock had woken up in hospital. 

 

“This is my friend, John Watson.” Sherlock grimaced and tried not to wrinkle his nose at the man before him. He’d show him up for calling him a freak all those uni years. He merely observed. Go on John you show him I’ve got friends.  
“Colleague.”  
Oh. That’s how it was. I reject him and he rejects me. Sherlock felt ruffled. He’d just have to irritate Sebastian some other way. 

John hadn’t consciously meant to be so bitter, he wasn't a resentful person. He liked to think anyway. He felt however he must assert some kind of control in their relationship if he was going to survive with his heart intact. Best get himself a date. He made a mental note and listened into what this Sebastian man had to say. 

“We all hated him” Well if that’s what he had to say John certainly regretted his past words about Sherlock to him. So he followed Sherlock out of the building swiftly. Maybe if this whirlwind, this hurricane of a man, would possess him so entirely he should get a job to keep himself grounded. He made another mental note. To balance oneself in the ey of the storm would be a great achievement.

 

“I said could u pass me a pen.” Sherlock asked irritably as soon as he’d come in the room. Not as self dependant as he liked to think he was.  
“When?”  
“About an hour ago.” Christ. John licked his lips convulsively.  
“Didn't notice I’d gone out an hour ago then?” Just a mumble came from Sherlock’s pursed lips as he turned to catch the pen.  
Sherlock pulled himself away from the work for pleasantries. Best at least try. Simon hadn’t seemed to interested.  
John could be his new experiment.  
He asked about the interview.  
“She's great.” Oh. Well it was certainly for the best. John clearly needed an outlet for his inner turmoil. This secret woman should help. He’d keep his distance of course, Simon made him do that. It stung a little but Sherlock didn’t have time for sentiment. A chemical defect found in the losing side. That was all. 

The case thickened and Sherlock was pulled away. A wonderful distraction, he never felt calmer than when a murder was afoot. Sherlock enjoyed riddles and murder as much as a avid crime reader. He just preferred it far more literal. He’d tried the works of Agatha Christie when he was seven. Mycroft had thrown the books at him one day when he’d woken up with the word ‘average’ scrawled on his forehead in Sherlock’s distinctive writing.  
The daring pirate Sherlock had won the battle and gained some reading material. He was saddened he could figure out Christie’s plot lines but he enjoyed them all the same. His favourite was ‘And Then There Were None’ which he didn’t work out the ending. He disagreed with it, but he loved how intensely clever it was. 

 

After being spun about by his mad roommate, and smugly shown him he did actually have a brain, with the picture of the cryptic message, John had been forced to scan through hundreds of books. He’d fallen asleep at work and made Sarah do all his shifts. He’d gone on a date with a pretty woman and a lanky detective. Then he’d been mistaken for the aforementioned detective and had a gun pointed at him. Christ. John was beginning to realise this double lives idea wasn’t going to work. Maybe Sarah would though. She’d seemed nice enough but now she had really shown herself as brave. It was ridiculous she was still interested in John after that catastrophe. John swore to himself to hang onto her. The squinty judgmental eyes of the young Holmes he would get over. 

One thing wouldn’t leave him about the whole case though.  
“It’s where two people who like each other go out and have fun.”  
“That’s what I was suggesting.” What did that mean? Self confessed riddle hater Holmes hinting at him? No no. Deliberating over these things just wouldn’t do. But Sherlock had reevaluated their relationship as friends to Sebastian and even though John had shot him down he still referred to them as ‘people who like each other’. Petty teenage boys thoughts push them away Watson. Push them away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave kudos and comments for extra loving


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